Howdydoda, Dudes!
by CyborgRockStar
Summary: It is [finally] discovered that Boris Balkov is an unfit caretaker for the D Boys, and they are sent somewhere they never thought they'd be: a farm. How will they deal with evil children, livestock, Bryan's psychoticness, & much more? Read to find out!
1. Intro of Cheer and Torture Tools

DM666: Hello people! I'm here talking to you from Cyborgrockstar's story! A small argument happened and we (me and other friends of Cybrgrkstr) decided she needs a happy story (that includes no romance) to lighten up all those depressing ones she loves to write. To help her get an idea for comedy (without romance) I'm here to help with a tinny tiny small bit of co authoring. (lets face it, if I'd written it myself it wouldn't of gotten as many readers as it deserves and my description is worth crap) Here's a comedy featuring every one's favorite team, the Demolition Boys!

CyRS: Konnichiwa, folks! It is I, aforementioned angst writer! Mwa! Yes, my friends do think I need to write non-romantical-though-giddy-happy-cheery-dotty stories…thus, this is born! Mr. DM thought up the storyline and I wrote the description and yadda yadda…you get the point. :) Hope you all enjoy!

DISCLAIMER (so we don't get sued—though who's so desperate for cash they go preying on adolescents they can sue because they have not disclaimed ownership of TV shows? ): DM666-san and CyborgRockStar-san do NOT own Beyblade, though they do own the odd random stuff that oddly and randomly appears in this storyline that is non-Beyblade…yeah.

**Chapter One: Cheeriness**

Cheery—it's a fine word. Sounds like cherry, and cherries are pleasant, ne? Unless you're an apple, then you don't like cherries because they rival you in sweetness and goodness. More people probably like apples better than cherries. A good poll topic for that random person out there who has no social life, doesn't want one, imagines themselves making out with someone from _Star Trek _(The poor Trekkies are always the targets—don't feel bad, Trekkies, you're cool. Teach me Klingon?), and makes a dumb website twenty-thousand bored-out-of-their-wits people visit. Yeah…. But back to the point: Cheery. Who doesn't like it? Well, if you don't, I suggest you get moving.

Go on, now, shoo.

Yes, you in the corner brooding, you too.

So now, here we all are—cheery-lovers. And perhaps cherry-lovers. Cherry, cheery—similar. Anyway, cheery: That's what this story shall be.

And cheery stories have cheery beginnings.

And cheery beginnings have cheery settings.

Thus, our story starts in the ever-so-cheerful universe. Earth, more specifically. Europe, more more specifically. Russia, more more more specifically. Moscow, more more more more specifically. Balkov Abbey, more more more more more more specifically.

Wait…do Balkov Abbey and cheery go together in the same sentence at all? Well, in this story, yes. The Demolition Boys are about to have a very cheerful experience….

(WARNING: FOLLOWING CONTENT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. THAT IS WHY THEY MUST STAY AND READ THIS. HA…HA.)

A rather ugly and unusually cheerful middle-aged guy stood outside of a room, blocked from view by a decaying wooden door. "Boys, I've been noticing that you haven't been performing at tip-top shape...so I have something special for you."

"Birth control pills for Tala?" guessed our favorite psycho, Bryan, eagerly. (No peeps, not YAOI or hints of it!)

"No, even better!"—Boris obviously found his trainee's remark quite in-the-ordinary.—"Your very own medieval torture chamber!" He swung open the door flamboyantly (it fell off its hinges with a noisy clatter and shattered into thousands of dead wood splinters) only to reveal…

"A room filled with old torture machines?" inquired Bryan, stunned.

"That's right! Now you can get taller on the rack, feel all the pain you want, and have thrilling near death experiences with the swinging pendulum of doom!"

For a moment the entire team was silent. Then all hell broke loose.

"Out of the way people! I need to get some height!" Ian shouted. (Such truth…)

"Pain, pain, pain, pain everywhere!" chorused Bryan, cackling madly. (Yes, our favorite **psycho** indeed…)

"I call the pendulum!" Spencer exclaimed cheerily. (Ha! Cheerily strikes again!)

After much fighting and shoving and cussing, all of them had a machine of torture… except Tala, who stood in the doorway and looked at them like they were all psychotic. And no one's really doubting that….

"Owwwwwww! (pants) Pain! Come on, Tala, don't you want to feel some?" Bryan said, licking his lips.

"Not only is that suicide,"—his captain sounded disgusted—"but it would ruin the hotness that is me."—more disgusted—"I'd lose all my fan girls (flicks bangs back)."

"Like you even want fan _girls_," Bryan taunted, rolling his lilac eyes.

"They may be annoying and sissyish but they make me feel popular, which of course I am."

"I'm popular and I don't need any fans." Bry sounded rather smug.

Tala examined his teammate carefully then. Bryan was sprawled on the crude form of a rack, with little pins peppered over it. Sweat was pouring down his face and he was grinning maniacally because of the pain.

"No girl would want to be your fan."

Whatever reply Bryan made was cut off by a scream from across the room.

"Ian," Boris was saying to the short kid as Bryan and Tala looked their way, "really…this isn't too good for your health and you may get seriously injured."

"Since when have you cared about my freakin' health? Keep turning, man!" snapped Ian, looking desperate.

"Ian, I don't think the rack is going to help you—"

"What do you freakin' care! Turn the wheel man, turn! What's gotten into you?"

"What _has_ gotten into me?" Boris gazed wonderingly at the dirty ceiling, absentmindedly observing a large spider as hairy as his chest weave a web. "Is this what parental emotions are? I don't like them!"

He randomly took a hammer off a table that randomly appeared next to him, and he started beating his head with it shouting, "Out, parental feelings, out!"

Awkward silence descended as the D Boys watched their distressed mentor. Finally, Boris seemingly recovered and started turning the wheel on the rack, laughing like the maniac he was.

Then…in a random movement of action (wow, doesn't _that _make sense) the door burst open and police officers dashed in.

Now, readers…picture that. Some random dudes who appeared out of nowhere (out of nowhere—my favorite place) see this purple-haired, goggles-wearing freakazoid old dude turning the wheel on a rack that is stretching out one short kid—then they see this somewhat girlish and "hot" boy standing in front of a lilac-haired kid inflicting himself with pain for fun—and then they see this blonde dude getting whapped over the head with a very heavy swinging pendulum of doom.

Now…picture what the authorities are thinking.

Ooh…I think _some folks _might get sent to the mental ward…or a farm…somewhere where they ain't gonna be so cheery anymore….

**End Chapter One!**

**DM666:** YAY randomness! Hope you all like Cyrbrgrckstr's story and thought it was funny. Next Chapter you can look forward too: more randomness (yay!), the team trying to get Bryan into a mental facility, me babbling some more, and the D boys getting a new gaurdian.

CyRS: Oh, the joy:) Please review, peeps! And have a great day!


	2. Lots of Tasering

DM666: Heh yall! Here's Chapter Two of and this one was all written by Cybrgrckstr.

CyRS: Yo folks! Thankies for the reviews for yester-chapter! Love y'all! And don't give me all the credit, DM m'boy, you wrote the basic dialogue and basic action (AKA, the story part)! Enjoy this chappie, all!

DISCLAIMER: The following is an unpaid-for-program. All is original content except for the characters rightfully owned by Aoki Takao-san, excluding the policemen people. No money is being made, sadly—though you're welcome to pay the creators of this program in wholesome reviews.

Chapter Two:

Welcome back to the cheery setting, people! Though I'm sorry to say the cheeriness has been interrupted…. If you recall last chapter (I'm sorry, this part _does _require thinking.) then you will recognize the fact that the police peeps just barged in and interrupted the torture-fest. Dun…dun…DUN!

So carrying on with the decreasingly-cheery story:

One policeman, with short lime-green hair and scary bright-orange bloodshot eyes (whom, from this point onward, will be known as POLICEMAN1) yanked out his taser-shocky-gun and cried, "Alright, you all have no rights whatsoever! Except those that include silence, lying, and calling a public attorney!"

Peeved that his self-pain-infliction was on a temporary hiatus, our little sadist friend Bry-Bry-chan balled his fists and growled, "Go away, jackass, you have the wrong house."

Ian nearly fainted at the sound of the curse word, but we'll overlook this fact and move on:

The second policeman, with waist-length unkempt purple locks and shiny yellow eyes like headlights (whom, from now on, will be known as POLICEMAN2), cocked his head to the side, confused. "We do?"

After Bryan's nod of agreement, Policeman2 turned to his partner, hands-on-hips. "See? I _told _you that suspicious **pink house **was the one we were supposed to go to! Pink and happy all over…. That _must _violate **some law or another**!"

Policeman1 coughed and kicked his toes against the stone floor. Then, gesturing toward Boris and the D Boys: "Oh well…. Because there is also suspicious activity in this house—you are all being moved away. Boris, you go to the loony bin, of course, and you four go to a _nice family _in Kansas, USA, who'll try to repair all the damage he's caused you."—Policeman1 gazed at all the torturing equipment and arched his dark green eyebrows. "ALL the damage."

Without further pointless yammering, the police-dudes handcuffed the teenagers and their crazy mentor.

"Why do we need handcuffs?" inquired Bryan, looking at the metal restraints with childlike curiosity, something that also almost made Ian faint considering this was **Bryan**.

"Resisting arrest!" screamed Policeman1, tasering Bryan.

"AGGGGGGGGGGGGG! That HURT! Give me more!" yelled the deranged lavender-head, muscles having spasms from the shock. Policeman1…complied. "AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!"

The police officers led Boris and his handcuffed crew outside. Well, they sort of had to drag the muscle-twitching, grinning maniacally Bry-Bry-chan….

With a look of utmost melancholy (be this because he was drunk or because he was high) Boris wiped an imaginary tear from his eye and sniffled, "Well, boys—I guess this is good-bye…."

Outraged, Policeman1, orange eyes demonic, screamed: "Silence!"…and proceeded to taser Boris, naturally.

"AGGGGGGGGGGGG!" Boris cried, sizzling.

"You have and **will use **the right to **remain silent**!"

Together, Boris and Bryan chorused, "I thought we had no rights," in matter-of-fact tones.

Well, we all know what's coming next:

"SILENCE!"

followed by the

_dzzzzzzzzzt dzzzzzzzzzt _

of the taser

followed by the

"AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!"s of Bryan and Boris, one sounding mildly happy, the other sounding supremely angered. Take a wild guess which is which.

Policeman2, wild purple hair swinging in the wind (and slapping Tala in the face), shoved Boris into the back of a black-white police van with fancy blue-red lights on the top. Boris, discounting his hopes that the sirens would sound, stood peering through the bars on the window-holes and waved to the Boys with his handcuffed hands—until, that is, Policeman2 tasered him with _his _taser-shocky-gun.

Policeman2 locked the van doors and leaped gracefully into the driver's seat, driving off down the gravelly road, leaving the Demolition Boys and Policeman1 to fend for themselves, Boris complaining that the sirens weren't, uh, sirening.

As a distressed Tala watched a dead leaf fall from a black tree nearby (thinking that that leaf was a symbol of his future), Bryan murmured, "Well, there goes one old fart."

And sirens wailed in the distance.

(Followed by a loud curse in a tone similar to an angry four-year-old girl's—though it was actually from Policeman2.)

End…

DM666: hope you liked. Hope Cybrgrckstr fixed the story and set the speech back to normal. Sorry it was short but three will be longer.

CyRS: Peace and remember to review! If you do, I'll give you contracts to aid me in my porcupine world domination quest:) BTW, go to my profile and read "Christmas Stories"! I swear, it's totally awesome and will be throughout its life-span. Have a great day!


	3. Americanese, Satan's Spawn, and Stealing

DM666:Here chappie three though it happier than chappie two it no beat chappie four.

Thanks for review Starlight Phoenix

And now happy chappie three (though it not so happy as happy chappie four)!

CyRS: Hi! And thanks to all reviewers! And I think DM's hyper:D And I guess we return to…cheeriness! No, I won't stop preaching cheeriness; if you don't like it, you best scurry off. To the disclaimer we go!

DISCLAIMER: DM666 and CyborgRockStar do not own Beyblade or its characters or its beyblades or its plot or its pretty pictures or its owner, Aoki Takao. We're not in favor of slavery, people. And note, we do not profit from this work of fanfiction—it's just the two of us consolidating our strange little mind-thoughts together into a great big glob of humor. Or what we hope is humor to you as it is such to us. Enjoy.

Chapter Three:

The Demolition Boys were quickly ushered away from the van they had just ridden in into an airport. (They all looked a little colorless—even Bryan was visibly paler ((is that possible?)) for they had just survived a very…_interesting_ car ride:

FLASHBACK!

A random person randomly spawned from Satan's "relations" with a prostitute was driving along through the cities of Russia…the sidewalks, more precisely. As the innocent masses screamed and dodged and the like, Satan's Spawn laughed…maniacally, of course. Meanwhile, the D Boys, seated behind him and Policeman1 (if you recall him from the previous chappie) appeared rather…startled.

Well, okay, Bryan was laughing maniacally at all the screaming, frantic people on the sidewalks, Spencer was hurling out the window, Ian was curled on the floor in fear, and Tala was shaking uncontrollably, whispering, "The end is near. The end is near."

This went on for quite some time, until the van reached the airport and met with an obstacle—the doors to the lobby, more precisely. After a few crashes here, a few screams there, and a lot of broken glass everywhere, Policeman1 dragged the DBoys from the car, all of them appearing a little shell-shocked, though hints of a smirk remained on Bryan's face.

Satan's Spawn called after them in sing-song tones, "Have a nice _da-ay_!"

END FLASHBACK!

Anywhozlls, I venture a gander that after all that ugliness, things are going to get better, right? So cheeriness returns! Ha, it's like a contagious disease, huh?

Carrying on:

The DBoys procured their airplane tickets for an eight hour flight to Kansas leaving in forty minutes. They waited the time away under police surveillance in the gift shop, which was rather an uneventful segment of the story—unless you count the useful little tidbit of time in which Bryan stole money from a seven-year-old. (Unfortunately, Bryan's plans went a tad awry as he counted his new fistful of coins—the little kid began screaming at the top of his lungs that Bryan was molesting him. After an angry mother smacked Bryan with her purse—which, while he cursed, Bryan claimed was filled with rocks—the DBoys were herded away from the shop, with protests from Ian as he stared longingly at the Beanie Baby™ stuffed animals lining the shelves.)

Soon—the Demolition Boys were off! Only, what would happen, of course—a problem was revealed! Huh, perhaps the story isn't getting _so_ cheery…. Alas, I suppose it needs problems to live…but…. (wistful sigh)

"Uh-oh," Bryan uttered, gazing at his teammates.

"What now?" murmured Tala exasperatedly. "Forget to give the little kid back his money?"

"Yeah, but that's not the uh-oh."

"Well, spit it out," demanded Ian, sorrow in his voice as he remembered nostalgically that very cute pink flamingo Beanie Baby™.

"Does anyone here speak American?"

Obviously that got some raised eyebrows and working brains.

Ian piped up softly, "Don't they speak English?"

"No, that's the English," Bryan dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"Well then what do the rest of the people in Britain speak?" Ian countered.

"British, duh. That's their common language for the country."

"Are you sure they even speak American over there? Maybe they speak Americanese or something," cut in Tala, looking about for support, even at the random passengers seated nearby.

"Nah, the Mexicans speak Mexican and the Canadians speak Canadian so Americans speak American," asserted Bryan matter-of-factly.

"I'm sure the Canadians speak French and English and I know the Mexicans speak Spanish…," persisted Ian, watching a little girl fondle her newly-purchased Beanie Baby™.

"Well we're not visiting either country so keep to the subject," Bryan muttered, crossing his arms.

"It's a matter of pride. Each country has its own language. Germany and German, Norway and Norwegian, France and French, Wales and Whale…," listed Tala.

"Humpback or Orca?" questioned Bryan.

"Ha ha." Bryan cocked an eyebrow—what was with that sarcastic laugh? He was dead serious with that question….

"Seriously I'm sure they speak English," insisted Ian, tearing his eyes from the little girl.

"Shut up, moron, I know what I'm talkin' about. My cousin sent me a video from America once and they spoke all kinds of stuff I didn't understand, like "for shizel" and "da za coolzt". It was frightening to me," whispered Bryan, looking at the floor with a shudder.

"The moon looks pretty," said Spencer, in daylight.

"Maybe we can take lessons?" suggested Tala.

"How? We don't even know how to ask for them," remarked Bryan.

"…"

"No worries," Ian said. "I heard there are rednecks out in Kansas. I have a Redneck Dictionary from my cousin. Written by someone called Jeff Foxworthy…" **(A/N: Oh yeah, we don't own Jeff and his dictionary either, so don't stab us with your sporks…)**

"Let's just get some sleep before we land. If we still have problems then we'll ask a stewardess," Tala stated, as though that ended the matter.

"Yes, ma'am. But we all have life-scarring mental problems that I doubt a stewardess can help with so we might as well hope she can help in other ways," muttered Bryan reluctantly.

"Just go to sleep!"

And so, the DBoys flew on through the sky, the sleeping undisturbed by the rough turbulence so similar to the electric chairs they had lived through, their problems unresolved. Ah, now that's a cheery scene….

End…

DM666:Hope you like happy chappie three! Hope you will like happy chappie four! Hope we gets lotsa reviews!

CyRS: I think the hippy-happy-hoppiness of the chapter made him all the more hyper. Maybe he'll go into supreme hyper-drive if you submit us some reviews! And OH YES, before I forget! _hands out a bunch of documents _For chappie two reviewers, PORCUPINE WORLD DOMINATION CONTRACTS! Except Starry, hun, you're already a member. XP Have a wondrously-fantabulous day, everyone! 'Til next time!


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